Fireflies
by Xcom-anders
Summary: The world went to hell, there's no denying it. However, fate will conspire to bring together three remarkable individuals, hoping to bring humanity its best fighting chance for survival.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own the Last of Us, for it belongs to Sony and Naughty Dog. O.K., disclaimer talk, over.**

_Somewhere along the Texas/Mexican border._

Before the outbreak, the little village-fort of New Tijuana did not exist. It was largely a segment of a border town, with various cars and walls blocking off anything that the scant few dozen survivors could not settle. It was hardly much to look at, but for a safe place to lie your head at night, it didn't have to be. Within the fort stood a radio tower, and inside, two increasingly desperate men endlessly worked on keeping the dying station alive. If the tower fell, their little desert town may as well be a desert island.

There was one thing the outbreak was good for, as far as Hugh understood, and that was how it could bring people together. A lifetime ago, he was a border guard, who regularly inspected the walls to keep out people who he now trusted with his life. As far as Navarro was concerned, however, he would rather be dealing with obnoxious border agents then that cursed fungus. Both men had lost people near and dear to them during the outbreak, and both men had changed drastically in the nineteen years since.

Hugh Lowell had been portly, blond, arrogant, and eager to assert and abuse his authority in the most belligerent, yet legal manner possible. Now, he was gaunt, grey-haired, weary, and would rather plant a bullet between the eyes of a bandit then give out a second chance. Navarro had barely been a teenager, and wanted nothing more then to get away from his family. At night, he wondered if any were even still alive.

"Come on, Senor Hugh, we can't make anymore progress today. I gotta go to bed," yawned Navarro, flicking the dust from his eyes. "Have some faith. Duct tape hasn't let us down yet," said Lowell, unconcerned. The small, community radio station had allowed for the little towns best fighting chance for survival. It was the only thing that could attract FEDRA, or indeed any broadcasts, and Hugh had been especially anxious to see the whether or not the rest of the government succumbed to decay. He glanced at a map of the U.S. behind him. When the plague started, every major population center became a destination for those trying to flee the outbreak. As the years went on, supplies, riots, managerial incompetence, and other factors gradually dwindled the few surviving safe-zones. The only ones still standing, it seemed, were those on the coasts, with their backs to the water.

Hugh sighed. Despite being secretly grateful for the collapse of those twenty-four hour news networks, he was curious over weather or not the rest of planet Earth was doing any better. Sure, the Americas were over a barrel, as was Europe, Asia, and Africa, as far as anyone could tell. Did Australia, Japan, and Hawaii get their acts together soon enough to halt the spread of the outbreak? For all he knew, only Madagascar was riding this out. "I can't do anything, Pop. I know you don't like it, but if we really want to try boosting any kind of signal, we really have to make a run on San Antonio."

Hugh grimaced. San Antonio was miles away, and any expedition outside would risk putting the precious few people and resources they had in jeopardy. It wasn't just the Infected; it was also the bandits and scavenger's unfortunate enough to live outside of the safe zones, official or otherwise. Desperation made monsters of even the best intentioned, even noblest, of individuals. If they left the safety of their own improvised walls, they risked leaving their families vulnerable to outsiders, and both Hugh and Navarro agreed that such an action was unacceptable. Even if they reached San Antonio, there was absolutely no guarantee that the new management would let them walk out with radio equipment, especially if they had nothing to offer in return. Duct tape, it was, then.

"Fuck it, then, you can call it a night. Let Anna know I'll be late coming home," grunted Lowell, taking a seat at the panel. "K, night Pop," his son-in-law yawned as he left the recording room. Hugh grunted, taking Navarro's seat, as he inspected the panel in front of him. What was he doing, anyway? This was Navarro's specialty; the best he could do was yell at him to fix it. He leaned back, gazed at the ceiling, hoping that morning would bring with it some kind of solution. If things got that desperate, he might actually sign up.

_Thirty miles north._

"BOOM, HEHEHEHE!" Most people were terrified of Clickers, then again, most weren't Oddie and his boys. Humanity may have found itself down the shitter, but Oddie was having the time of his life. Two decades of absolute freedom had left its mark on the outlaw biker. Before the outbreak, he had spent most of his time in the slammer, on a Harley, or in a bar. Now, his boys, the self-proclaimed "Nomads of Armageddon," were the premier badasses of San Antonio. Now, he was free to live out his not-so-secret fantasy of being a Viking warrior, and may God help those who stood in his way, infected or not.

Practically a warlord, Oddie ruled the nearly abandoned safe-zone with an iron fist. It was a motley collection of scavengers and refugees too tired to run and too weak to resist the best deal this new future had. Submit to "King" Oddie, or the Clickers will tear you to pieces. With an army that numbered in the hundreds, and the federal government nowhere to be seen, Oddie was the undisputed ruler of the safest haven in the southwest, giving him leverage that most people could only begin to fathom.

Right now, he was in the middle of one of his "PR" expeditions. He would help one of the nearby settlements suffering an Infected infestation, supposedly out of the kindness of his heart. Actually, it was because he loved the sound of an aluminum Louisville slamming into the mushroom-pluming skull of an Infected. In reality, he could do whatever he wanted to the Infected, and he wouldn't feel guilty about it. It was really his worst kept secret. Bojack and Willow, his two best fighters, had also mopped up the rest of their opponents, Bojack wielding a fire-axe, Willow with her sledgehammer. "And that's how you do it, Nomad style," laughed Bojack, howling down at the fallen former humans that surrounded them. None of them took the Infected lightly, but they held very few surprises, and if you survived your first year of combat, untouched, you were smart enough to handle whatever they threw at you, and to know when to run.

Fortunately, this had been a small pack, numbering a dozen recently infected, with only one Clicker. Barely worth fueling up the pickup truck for the ride out. Fortunately, this particular group of scavengers were some who Oddie was very familiar with, and usually didn't disappoint. Still, the burden of proof was on them to confirm a job well done. "You guy's know the drill," ordered Oddie, putting on his gasmask. Bojack groaned, prompting Willow to slap him behind the head. He'd been doing this drill too often to complain about it now. Masks on, knives out, necks severed, heads in the sack. If those pansies were even tempted to bilk him out of an honest days labor, well, Oddie could do whatever he wanted with them, and he wouldn't feel guilty about it.

Throwing the sack in the back of the truck, the three fighters climbed into the cab. "Now, remind me, these are the guys who had the penicillin, right?" asked Willow. She was a head taller then both Oddie and Bojack, with short, cropped hair. You never saw many women as full-fledged biker members, but Oddie never saw most women cave in the faces of anyone who gave them shit with a brick. "Tch, fuck medicine, we need more AK's from your buddies down south," bitched Bojack. Bald with a straggly goatee and a beer gut, Bojack wasn't kept around because of his critical thinking skills. Of course _they _didn't need the medicine, but some of their…associates did. "It's for Kendrick's little group, you moron," explained Oddie, "and the fact that we give them the medicine is the reason we _have_ buddies down south." Just because Oddie had learned to accept the world for its new state didn't mean he couldn't humor the temptations of others who were trying to reset the new status quo. Not when there was a deal to be made.

_One hundred miles south, just off the Gulf of Mexico_

"Shit, shit, shit, fuckin' shit," muttered Linus, bandaging his blood-soaked arm, praying that nothing was seriously messed up. He was lucky finding the beach house. Hopefully, the guy had gotten sick of trying to follow him. How the hell could one guy mess them up so badly? His life had slowly gone downhill since before the infection started. Chronically unemployed, feeding a habit, compounded by that damn hurricane had left him destitute before the infection hit. It was only luck that he happened to be in the New Orleans safe zone when the walls went up. After that, the Fireflies, the riots, and the constant infighting, culminated in the rise of that wannabe priest currently calling the shots. It became so unbearable that he dared risk leaving the walls, chasing rumors of a commune down south that had completely eliminated the infection.

After hooking up with a bunch of partners who he believed would help him try to find it, he later discovered that his newfound buddies were less interested in going further down south then they were bullying small settlements for food. All right, thought Linus, it wasn't what he was expecting, but who is he to judge on a full stomach. For five years, they lived out of beachfront property, keeping a low profile from the infected, only leaving to shake down a vulnerable settlement, or jump a lonely survivor. In hindsight, this was probably just karma finally calling.

He heard the screen door swing open, and heavy boots moving around the kitchen. _Shit. _What did he want? Revenge? He already killed the entire group. Linus could still see the right side of Victor's face exploding from the rifle shot. When Kyle tried to charge the guy, he sidestepped, dragging a friggin machete across his stomach. Maybe the poor bastard finally bled out by now. Hell, Linus tried to surrender, and he took a bullet in his arm for the trouble.

Silence. The boot-steps had stopped. Linus held his breath. Maybe the guy had found what he wanted in the house and left. He was about to exhale when he saw it. A pair of narrow shadows sneaking underneath the doorway. Just shut the hell up, thought Linus, play dead, and he'll leave. Sure enough, the shadows passed away. Linus slowly breathed out, grateful that that psycho had finally had enough. Then he heard a gunshot, and the doorknob was dislodged from its place. The stranger then burst into the room.

It was like something out of a horror movie. The stranger was wearing a Stetson, dreadlocks, bulletproof vest, duster, worn-jeans, and a face-concealing balaclava. The first thing he did was jam one of his heavy boots into the bleeding wound on Linus's arm. Linus howled in pain as the stranger grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him back into the living area. The stranger threw Linus on the couch, and brought the machete against his throat, still red with Kyle's blood. "J-just take whatever you want, you win!" pleaded Linus. He was never a brave man, never had anything he believed in strong enough other then his own life and comfort. He was smart enough to run when things got heavy, but this stranger across from him wasn't about to let him walk.

The stranger held the machete at his throat for what seemed like an eternity, before reaching into his coat pocket, pulling out what looked like a dog tag. The stranger held it in front of Linus, turning the dog tag around to show him the back. The markings seemed familiar. It looks like a bug with a light coming out the back, thought Linus. It dawned on him. The stranger seemed to realize the symbol registered with his captive, and finally spoke. "Where are the Fireflies?" she asked, gruffly. Linus was taken aback. The stranger pulled the balaclava from her face, revealing a young, but severe face starring back at him. "Uh, I don't know where, exactly, but there's a town up north with a radio station. They can do more for you then I can," confessed Linus. In this situation, honesty really was the best policy, he hoped.

The woman grabbed a map from her other pocket, unfolding it, and telling Linus where to point, as closely as he could manage. Linus indicated the border, a few miles north, maybe about a week on foot. The woman thanked him for his service, and offered him a choice. "The way I see it, there are two ways this can end. Either I kill you now, or I walk away, and leave you to die." Linus balked at her. Psychotic bitch, he thought. What made her think that he was just going to die here? It was just a flesh wound. He could take care of a measly little-…the woman looked up, sniffed the air, then stared back at Linus. "Ten seconds."

Linus was about to stammer out how ridiculous this was, that she was crazy, when he heard it. The unmistakable sound of a, no, several Clickers. "Times up, sorry," and with that, she bolted. Linus wanted to scream at her, catching himself as he heard Clickers burst through the front door, searching for the source of the noises that attracted them. For such heavy boots, the woman was surprisingly light on her feet, and in seconds, she had climbed out of the beach house. Now, all Linus could do was grasp in bleeding wound in one hand, his trembling mouth in the other, and pray that the five Clickers milling around his house would not hear a single sound he made. Whatever happened, the stranger never saw him again. She had a mission to accomplish, and a promise to keep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Last of Us, Naughty Dog, Sony, etc.**

_Chapter 2_

It took about twenty minutes for the truck to reach the suburb. Oddie and Bojack kept their eyes peeled for graffiti. The infected either couldn't or forgot how to read, let alone decrypt the marking left behind by scavengers. There, on the door, a cross surrounded by a circle. Kendrick's stash and safe house. Oddie parked the truck, wordlessly exiting the vehicle, and walked to the back. There, he promptly picked up the sack, and grabbed an AK-47 from the back. Bullets were valuable, and he didn't enjoy wasting them on enemies that he could take up close and personal. Humans, on the other hand, were much less predictable, and the margin for error was much slimmer. Nodding to his two partners, Oddie nodded to his partners, and then walked to the gate leading to the backyard. As he did, he passed two severed deformed heads on spikes flanking the gateway.

Kendrick was only in the fourth grade when the world ended, so in some ways he was lucky. Lucky enough to acclimate to a new world without having it overwhelm him. To him, the apocalypse was normal, and survival was something ingrained into his mind. He was a skinny little bastard, redheaded with green eyes, and had largely been a scavenger ever since the Chicago safe-zone collapsed after rioting. Most importantly, to the Nomads, he was their lifeline to the Fireflies.

The cocky little shit was lounging on a lawn chair in the backyard, next to the festering cesspit that had once been an above ground pool. He appeared to be rolling some kind of joint, and he had a revolver shoved carelessly into the front of his waistband. Oddie had worked with Kendrick long enough to know, however, that this was largely an act. Anyone who was actually this careless would have been devoured years ago. Sure enough, he could make out the outlines of at least two figures inside the house, and one leaning against the shed.

Oddie walked up to the lounging Kendrick. "You better have something good for me, you sorry-ass SOB." Kendrick rested the joint on the armrest. "Oddie, what an unexpected surprise! It really is such an honor for Your Majesty to grace us with his glorious presence," Kendrick drawled, sarcasm dripping with each syllable. Oddie had happily beaten the living shit out of people for less, before and after the outbreak, but with age came wisdom, and some measure of restraint. He took the sack, and dumped out its contents. Head after head rolled out. He heard an audible gasp from the house. "Twelve, count'em twelve, heads," Oddie spat. Kendrick looked unconcerned. "Congratulations, twelve down, another three billion to go. You expecting a treat?" In his mind, Oddie blew him away with the entire clip, but the calmer side of him realized that the more Kendrick shot his mouth off; the better off he was at the moment, which meant a better offer for Oddie.

"I'm expecting my foot up your ass if you don't quit wasting my time and give me my cut," threatened Oddie. Kendrick sighed, snapped his fingers, and a young girl came out with a worn briefcase. Oddie snatched the briefcase from her, causing her to flinch back, and fumbled with the rusted locks until they gave way. He looked in, and found himself looking at ten dozen packets of medication. Barely suppressing a smirk, the glanced down at Kendrick, who had just gotten up from the chair. "Have I let you down yet, old buddy?"

Oddie would rather choke down a razorblade and bleach milkshake then admit it, but he never did. Truth be told, Kendrick had been the decisive factor over Oddie's conquest of the San Antonio safe zone. Thanks to his contacts down south, Oddie was able to acquire the guns and supplies he needed to reclaim the abandoned safe zone, and hold it against bandits and the Infected. Oddie knew that if the military ever got their shit together, and tried to make a move on his territory, Kendrick was his best shot at survival. "I know you have more, Kendrick, and you don't want to hold out on me." Kendrick held out his hands, almost in an apologetic manner. "I do, but I can't give you everything." "Bullshit, you can't. You dealing with someone else?" Kendrick backed away slightly. "That wasn't what I meant. I just need you to do me a favor is all." He motioned towards the girl.

She was barely five feet tall. She was wearing a long sleeved tunic and a wool-knit cap. She had these huge puppy dog eyes that looked like they would burst into tears at a moments notice. And she was already pissing Oddie off. "What the hell am I supposed to do with her?" Oddie muttered. "Her name is Sophie, and she is important. I need you to take her with you to San Antonio, and keep her there for the time being." Oddie stared down Kendrick. "Do you see "fucking babysitter" written on my forehead?" "What I see is someone who will get a truckload of ex-cartel weaponry by keeping this girl safe and unharmed. You'll only have to hold her for a few months, then you'll never have to see her again, deal?" Oddie glared at Kendrick.

"What's the catch? Don't fucking lie to me and say there ain't, tell me." Kendrick exhaled, "Look, I'm not trying to pull a fast one on you, understand? Out of respect, I'll let you know. She matters to someone important, and I promised people I'd keep her safe. The safest place I know is your place. It's that simple. We have a deal?" Kendrick extended his hand to Oddie. A full minute later, Oddie exited the backyard with a little girl in tow. As he climbed into the cabin, he wheeled on the girl following him," So, brat, what's your story?" Sophie took a step back, looking like she wanted nothing more then to bolt away from the guy who looked like he would devour her in one bite. "What the hell is her deal, Oddie? You knocked up Kendrick's sister?" Bojack had to quip. "Lay off it, she's not nearly fat enough to be Oddie's kid," joked Willow, who extended her arm to the shaking civilian waiting outside. She reluctantly took it, and the pickup drove off while Oddie tried to find the words to describe just what happened.

Hugh was in a deep sleep when Navarro shook him awake. "Up and at'em, old timer. We have an issue." "Please tell me that it isn't Manny complaining about the hot water again." Navarro shook his head, "No, there's someone outside the gates. She says she wants to talk to the guy in charge." Just then, they heard the sound of a rifle crack. Hugh grabbed the pistol from his bedside stand and rushed out of the room. A bandit, alone? This didn't add up. Hugh and Navarro rushed out of the little motel and made a B-line towards the town gate. Javier and Steph were on the top, blowing round after round at something below. "Dad, we need more men! She's gonna die out there," yelled Steph. Hugh climbed up the bus and joined his daughter at the top of the gate, and could not believe what he saw.

There had to be at least fifty infected, all of them swarming around a single individual. This person, however, whirled and whirled around the infected, swinging a machete like some kind of iron twister. Sure enough, every contact she made with the infected severed a limb from the horde. Hugh gaped at the sight. This woman fought like she was insane, but she was keeping one step ahead of the infected. Then he saw something that made his blood run cold.

From an alleyway outside the perimeter, two Bloaters emerged, and made their way to the individual. "Javier, get in the bus and crack the gate open!" he screamed. Javier gave an affirmative nod, and opened the trap door leading to the cabin of the bus. The engine roared to life, and the machine opened the tiniest of margins into the wall. "Head to the gate, we'll cover you!" he screamed to the stranger. The stranger promptly fled towards the gate, several Runners hot on her tail. Hugh took careful aim and plugged a few slugs into their brains. She slid through the opening, and once she was clear, Javier promptly sealed the gap, killing the engine. The stranger collapsed on her knees from the exhaustion. She'd come so far, and it almost ended outside these gates. Then she felt a gun barrel press against the back of her head.

"Sorry, friend, but strangers aren't allowed to keep their weapons in here." She looked up at her captor. Mexican, tall, and clearly not joking. She untied her machete sheathe, and dropped her rifle next to her. "Honey, will you do the honors." He called behind him. A woman, blonde and petite, stood the stranger up and began searching her. "Could you please remove the duster." Annoyed, the woman complied. After completing the pat down, the woman said she was all clear. The stranger turned to see the Mexican fishing through her pockets, and pulled out a dog tag. The Mexican stared at it intently, then called for a man named Lowell. They huddled together, whispering, before the grey-haired man moved towards her. "I gotta say, you don't look like a Ramon. Tell me, what is your name?" The woman looked up at him. "My name is Camila Sakuraba." The man looked down at her. "Well, Camila, do you mind if I ask you one question?" He threw the dog tag at her feet. It landed face up, showing the name "Ramon Almodovar" on its face. "What business does a drifter like you have with the founder of the Fireflies?"


End file.
